


A Gift

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Fluff, Hero of Kvatch Reader, I mean Hero is still unspecified gender wise but uhhhh, Kisses, Little bit of angst, Multi, Reunions, Sanguine Is a Good Bro, That's about it??, this is gay, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8648833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: Martin sold his soul to Sanguine long before Akatosh staked a claim, and while Sanguine himself doesn't have much interest in the would-be Emperor, the new Sheogorath couldn't be happier to have him in their realm. (AKA the "fuck canon, I want Martin to be happy" fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Can you imagine Sanguine totally kicking Akotosh's ass for Martin's soul? bc I can. It's beautiful. Sanguine is the ultimate wingman. 
> 
> Yeah it's like four am and I wanted to write sappy shit so here we are... A fix it fic for the game that made me cry.
> 
> Also I'm not the only one who thinks the Aureals and Mazken are the cutest things ever, right?? Like my gay ass can't handle how cute they are... 
> 
> Shout out to my bro who yells with me about Martin and various other games (I'm working on your fic dude. It's gone happen)

Sanguine and your predecessor had a very good friendship, from what you can understand, and that carried on even when you took the throne. He visits every so often, offering alcohol and the latest gossip among your fellow Princes. You, despite being at this nearly a year now, are still quite asocial outside of the Shivering Isles. 

Sanguine doesn't seem to expect any different, at least, telling you "its easier to heal if you're wasted". You've been very tempted to agree a few times, but again, you have a realm to take care of. Unlike your late Duke, you want to do that lucid.

Sanguine takes a human form when he visits, and although you've told him its unnecessary, you appreciate the gesture. Compared to the others, you are still fairly human like. Although, so was the last Sheogorath.

In addition to very pretty diamond eyes and hard, razor-like nails, said predecessor left you with the tendency to find a topic and hook your claws in. Sanguine, thankfully, doesn't seem to mind as you ramble on about the hilarity that is a Count of wine country being a vampire.

"I brought you a present, you know." Sanguine suddenly says, interrupting your mindless chatter. "Well, actually, I brought him a while ago but I forgot."

You blink. "Hm?"

He smiles, "Over in Passwall."

 _Of course._ "You know, with how many of your subjects you drive mad, you'd almost think you _want_ an excuse to see me more often," You hum, looking down at your glass to avoid his gaze. If you were both human (and you weren't mourning), you could almost picture the two of you being more than friends. But as it is, you are more than satisfied with being allies.

"This one's special." Sanguine's grin is borderline inappropriate at this point, and you thank yourself that you've long since stopped being fazed by it. Younger you would be blushing seven shades of red.

"Special..." You pause, allowing the confusion to show on your face, "How so?"

"You'll see." He waves off your concerns. "But I've gotta get back to my own place. Got things to do--"

"People to do would be more accurate, would it not?" You snort.

His answering laugh is boisterous, and makes the Mazken nearest to you grab her mace. You hold a placating hand for her, and she instead moves to stand by your chair, eyes on the Daedra. _They're so protective_.

She stays by your side until Sanguine departs, and you remain at your tea table until you feel him _really_ leave. The Shivering Isles are a part of you, after all, and the presence of another Prince is hardly something you can simply forget about.

If you concentrate, you can feel the life thrumming through your realm, feel the split between the manic and demented and most of all, you can feel the _affection._ The love, however stilted, that flows in the Shivering Isles is truly something.

"My Lord?" Your guard asks when you stand.

"We still have an Aureal group in Passwall, correct?" You respond, stretching out. Your joints don't even crack anymore, although you feel they should. It's a struggle to remind yourself that _you're not mortal anymore, that's normal, stop trying to break your own fingers._

"Yes, my Lord. They are still trying to locate the source of the grummites." Her lips curl back derisively. "The Mazken would be honored to finish the task, my Lord."

"No, no, I'm sure they can handle it." You assure her. "I will be going to Passwall anyway, and I'll speak to them personally. You, on the other hand," You bring a hand up to her cheek, inspecting the near imperceptibly darker skin underneath her eyes.

She leans into your hand, looking very much like a pleased cat. "Look exhausted. Please rest while I am gone."

"Of course, Lord Sheogorath." She hums lowly. She doesn't move to do as requested until you take back your hand, and even then she seems to hesitate.

 _They're so cute!_ You think, not for the first time. As arrogant and cruel your armies can be, both Aureals and Mazken are just adorable when given proper motivation. Namely, when you pay them more than a smidgen of attention.

It takes you only a moment of concentration to teleport over to the Gates, and you feel absolutely no guilt for abusing your Madgod powers in such a way.

You give the Gatekeeper a fond pat as you pass him, careful to mind the weaponized hands. He's not nearly as responsive as most of your subjects while being shown affection from the Madgod themself, but you like to think he appreciates it nonetheless.

Sheldon is, of course, the first to greet you. He's wandering (or patrolling, perhaps?) the outskirts of town when you approach.

"Sheldon!"

He visibly jumps at the sound of your voice, but quickly mellows when he spots you. "Ah, hello! What brings you here, friend?"

You don't mind the lack of formalities, knowing its simply not in Sheldon's nature. He likes to think of himself as the ruler of Passwall, after all. "I heard there's a newcomer." You cut straight to the heart of it, anxious to figure out what's so special about this one. 

He scoffs at the very mention of said newcomer. "Yes, yes, he's staying at the inn. Keeps talking about how he doesn't belong with Daedra. I keep trying to tell him we're as human as he is."

Your eyes light up, "Well, if he wants Daedra! I am more than sufficient, don't you think?"

Sheldon looks unconvinced, but does stop in his endless pacing long enough to inform you of more, even sweeter gossip. It seems _Nanette_ , of all people, has taken a liking to Desha and has therefore been very unhelpful in the search for the Grummite lair. You're sure the Saint just loves that.

On the flip side, the newcomer has been very helpful with their search, but has received only scorn from the Aureals. Considering their disdain for men and mortals, you're not surprised.

Until you meet said newcomer, of course.

He's sitting near the fire place when you walk in, completely immersed in the book in his lap, and completely unaware of your presence. He looks like he did Before, dressed in that warm chapel robe and shoulders unweighted by the Empire.

He looks amazing, and _alive_ , and you don't know what to do with yourself.

Martin.

Your heart stutters in your chest, picking up in double time.

Martin.

Hands curling into fists, you swear the next time you see Sanguine you'll yank his eyes out. And maybe kiss him. He _kept him from you_. He _gave him back_. This isn't a simple gesture of "I accidentally drove one of my subjects mad and didn't want to kill them, so here."

This is... This is something else. This is Martin.

Somewhere in your palace, there's an armor set given to you that is simultaneously a symlbol of what you gained and a constant reminder of what you lost. A title is nothing compared to a love. You imagine, somewhere in Sanguine's realm there is the exact same set of armor, and wonder if Martin hates it too.

You can't get your voice to work, can't manage much more than a gasp.

You aren't quite sure if you teleported or walked to his side, but somehow you managed to do so. You hesitantly place your hand on his shoulder and revel in how _real_ this is.

Martin glances up curiously, obviously expecting one of his fellow Passwall residents.

You both freeze.

He seems to be trying to process seeing you here, just as you had done not a minute prior, while you... Well, you're a mess. You curse your reaction as your vision blurs, hot tears dripping down your cheeks.

It's your name, not Sheogorath but your name falling out of Martin's mouth that finally breaks you. You throw yourself into his arms, uncaring that your knees crack against the arm rests and then chair nearly tips with the sudden weight.

"I've missed you." You cry. "I've missed you so much, you can't-- don't ever do that to me again, Martin." The words get all mixed up when they come out, but you think he understands. "What happened?"

Martin laughs and it sounds like a sob. "Remember when I told you about my dealings with Sanguine? It seems he won my soul instead of Akatosh."

Fuck yeah he did. You bury your face in Martin's neck, knowing your response wouldn't be anywhere near as articulate as Martin's at the present. All you care about is Martin, here, in your realm, in your arms.

Martin rubs circles between your shoulder blades until you stop openly sobbing and kiss him. It's messy, tear stained, and completely wonderful.

Martin looks starstruck when you pull away, as if he still can't believe you like him romantically.

It seems like ages ago that you first kissed him, in the Blades' archives as he studied Dagon's accursed book and you read over the books Martin picked for you on the ruins. It was late, all the others either on guard outside or resting, and what better time to confess than half way through a world altering quest?

(He stuttered through explaining that he's had a crush since the moment you showed up covered in ash and asked what you could do to help the survivors, and you smothered his blushing face in feather light kisses)

Martin brings you back to his lips after its clear you have no heartfelt monologue prepared. This time its much more composed, although you still taste the salt of your tears. Martin, on the other hand, tastes like tea.

How very civilized of him.

You break away to laugh, briefly resting your head on his shoulder. "Welcome to the Shivering Isles." You finally manage.

He smiles. "What are you doing here? What happened to your eyes?" One hand moves to your cheek, and suddenly you understand why your Mazken are so fond of it. His thumb traces your cheekbone, straying a little too close to your eye. He laughs when you wrinkle your nose. "Sorry."

You try to frown, but it seems like your smile refuses to budge. "It's fine. It's just... very hard to explain, and I'm still reeling. I can't believe you're here."

"Neither can I. Sanguine said I'm a gift for Lord Sheogorath." Martin rolls his eyes, and you can't help but think he must've picked that up from yours truly. What a horrible influence you are. Were? He did die, so you suppose past tense would be proper, but he's... Here, so...

You figure you'll have time to think that over later, and simply agree, "And what a lovely gift you are. I'll have to thank him."

He raises an eyebrow, the question silent but very obvious.

"I'm... I am Lord Sheogorath. I very recently inherited the title of Madgod. So, technically, you are my gift." You want to do something, like kiss his forehead or step away to bow dramatically, but instead you just stare at your hands (which, you may add, have somehow ended up clutching Martin's robe in a death grip).

Where you fail to express yourself, Martin excels. "I'd rather just be yours."

Your ribs feel too tight for your body. They can't contain the amount of affection filling you to the brim, and the weather outside reflects that.

There's a flash of light and a loud crack that has even Dwedhwen jerking awake. It's not raining though, you notice. How the Isles react to you is always a surprise.

"Did you do that?" Martin asks.

"Sort of." You lean forward, kissing his cheek. "It's an emotional response. Although I _can_ change it at will."

His lips quirk, not the blinding grin he had earlier, but a soft smile. "I assume lightning is a good response?"

"I'm happy. I'm very, very happy." You admit shamelessly. "Now come on, I want you to properly meet Desha." You clumsily get to your feet, one foot numb from position you had been in.

"Desha?" He raises an eyebrow as you help him up.

"The Golden Saint you've been helping. What? You thought I barged in here without the latest gossip?" You hesitate a tick before kissing him again, this time on the corner of his mouth. "Granted I didn't know this weird newcomer was Martin."

"Martin." He repeats, trying to mimic your tone.

"Yes, the love of my life." You confirm. "He's wonderful. I'm sure you'd like him."

Said love looks awfully pleased by his title, although its hardly a new thing for you to declare. Maybe the difference is that this time its sincere, not some running joke between the Blades about the unavoidability of the two of you being A Thing.

But you are no longer simply the Hero of Kvatch, nor are you the Champion of Cyrodiil. You are the Madgod, Sheogorath, and he isn't the future Emperor Septim. He's just Martin now, a soul promised to your dear friend.

You can't help but kiss him again, feeling him smile against your lips and hesitantly place his hands on your waist (a gentleman, even in death). He pulls away with a laugh, "Aren't you going to introduce me to someone?"

What? Your scattered mind struggles to remember your previous plan, even only a few seconds after coming up with it. Consistency isn't your strong suit, after all.

"I think... That will have to wait." You say slowly. "First. New Sheoth."

He raises an eyebrow, "And what is that?"

"The Palace. My Palace. You'll love it, Martin, I guarantee. You've always struck me as the demented sort, but you can claim either or both halves, I don't really care. Or I suppose you could remain neutral, although that's hardly an option considering you're courting Sheogorath. But then again, that's rather poetic, isn't it?" You being both and Martin being neither...

Martin, to his credit, only looks mildly alarmed by your rant. "You're much more... Articulate now." He says.

You blink, mentally going over the situation again. He's confused, but not enough to take his hands off you. That's good. He's not freaked out then. Carefully, you bring a hand up to his shoulder, mimicking your attempt to check if he's real.

"I'm... I'm Sheogorath now, although you are welcome to call me my old name. But... Being the Madgod has changed me. I've embraced the madness, and that will show in my mannerisms. I'm still me. I'm just... Bigger." You're not quite sure if the metaphor takes, but Martin does appear interested in your reply.

He glances at your hand, presumably taking in the Daedric claws. "It's to be expected that we've changed in the last however long we've been separated."

He meets your eyes, giving you a look that screams Emperor. A look that means he's asserting an undeniable truth. He had the same look when he told you he would not sit around while others fought.

But, unlike that time, his words don't instill a sense of dread within you. Instead they fill you with a positively wonderful warmth.

"I love you. I look forward to learning the newer sides of you." He says.

You... Can't really manage a response. Your thoughts are a mess of affection and confusion and oh wow this is what is feels like to be rendered speechless.

You're certain only Martin Septim could manage to steal the voice of a Daedric Prince so easily.

It takes you a while, and Martin is blessedly patient as you unscramble your thoughts. "I love you too. I love you so much, Martin, you have no idea. Or, maybe you do! I am not sure, but I would be so happy if you agreed to stay with me in New Sheoth. Although I must warn you, the citizens take a bit to get used to, and my guards may regard you... Unfavorably."

You wonder if he realizes what his smile does to you. "I would love staying with you, and I am already well acquainted with how your army treats me. And as for the citizens, I doubt they're any odder than this I've met in Passwall."

"Hmmmmmm," You act as if you're thinking it over for a moment, bringing your free hand to your face contemplatively. Martin snorts in an attempt to keep from laughing, and you crack a proud smile, "You have yourself an agreement, Martin Septim."

He seals the deal with a kiss, and you can't help but think he picked that up from Sanguine. The idea of him kissing others immediately digs into your abdomen, but then he throws his arms around your shoulders and you melt.

The two of you part with some reluctance, Martin panting for breath while you simply sigh contentedly.

"Love you." You say, leaning against his chest. There's really no need to do so, considering you are by far the stronger one, but it makes you feel warm. Like curling in a blanket after a hard day of protecting your realm. Like home.

He gives a short laugh, "I love you as well."  

You don't think you'll ever tire of hearing him say that. 


End file.
